


Switch-flipping

by Nary



Category: Perseity
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Body Modification, Breasts, Character of Color, Control Issues, Dom/sub, Genderfuck, Genderqueer Character, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Other, Power Dynamics, Recreational Drug Use, Science Fiction, Size Kink, Unorthodox Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vigo wanders into the kitchen, the floating cam trailing after him. Quaquin catches a glimpse of his ass as the angle shifts dizzyingly. "Something wrong?" Vigo asks as he pours himself a drink. He actually sounds concerned. Like he cares.</p><p>"Nothing's wrong. I'm just on a tight schedule, that's all. Tonight's out of the question, but I've got a couple of hours free this afternoon." And I really fucking need to see you, before I snap and tear someone a new one, he doesn't add. The tension's probably plain from his voice, anyway. Vigo's good at picking up on those sorts of nuances.</p><p>Vigo shrugs. "Sure, I can shift a few appointments around, be ready for you by one. How long did you want me for?"</p><p>As long as it takes, no more. "Half an hour?"</p><p>"Aw, don't short-change yourself, Robin." Quaquin hates it when he calls him that, mainly because of the way it makes his stomach roll over on its back and whimper. "You said you had a couple of hours free, so let's make it last."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switch-flipping

Fib him. Don't fib him.

Fuck.

He fibs him. Encrypted, of course.

"Hey!" Vigo's voice is bright, but the screen's dark.

"Is this a bad time?" Quaquin asks, hates having to ask, hates himself for asking.

"No, no," Vigo protests. "I just stepped out of the shower, that's all. Just a sec." There's a brief pause, and then the picture snaps on, revealing him, dripping and gorgeous, naked from the waist up, with a towel draped around his shoulders. "It's been too long, how are you doing?"

Always so god-damn friendly. "Look, can I come over?"

"Sure, of course. Tonight?"

"No, now." Be firm.

Vigo wanders into the kitchen, the floating cam trailing after him. Quaquin catches a glimpse of his ass as the angle shifts dizzyingly. "Something wrong?" Vigo asks as he pours himself a drink. He actually sounds concerned. Like he cares.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just on a tight schedule, that's all. Tonight's out of the question, but I've got a couple of hours free this afternoon." And I really fucking need to see you, before I snap and tear someone a new one, he doesn't add. The tension's probably plain from his voice, anyway. Vigo's good at picking up on those sorts of nuances.

Vigo shrugs. "Sure, I can shift a few appointments around, be ready for you by one. How long did you want me for?"

As long as it takes, no more. "Half an hour?"

"Aw, don't short-change yourself, Robin." Quaquin hates it when he calls him that, mainly because of the way it makes his stomach roll over on its back and whimper. "You said you had a couple of hours free, so let's make it last."

"Fine. Two hours."

Vigo grins. "Looking forward to it, hon. See you soon."

Quaquin spends the next hour wondering whether he should change before he goes. He finally decides not to – no point, really, Vigo won't care what's what when they get down to it. He's constitutionally incapable of judging anyone. It's one of the reasons Quaquin keeps going back to him, one of the reasons he'll admit to himself, anyway. Finally it's time, so he hops on the Zoster and tries not to think about it.

Vigo's waiting at the door. He hasn't bothered to get dressed. "Come on in, lover," he tells him with a smile, and Quaquin does as he's told. "Can I get you anything? Pharms, stims, a drink? My bar is open for you."

"Aren't you still on parole?" It's only an idle threat, of course, and Vigo knows it. Quaquin knows he should really take something to help him relax for a little while, but he's not about to lose control. No more than he has to, anyway. "Just a beer, if you've got one." There's a porn vid playing somewhere, the grunts and moans that make up the background score of Vigo's life.

"One? I've got four different kinds!" Vigo rummages around and comes up with a can that he passes to Quaquin, and a cinnastim for himself. Quaquin opens it, takes a drink, tries to breathe normally. Vigo's wandered into the labyrinth that is his living room, fiddling with his fib as he goes, so Quaquin follows him. He hates this part, the bit before when they have to make small talk for a few minutes. "Busy at work?" Vigo asks him, pushing some buttons. The lights throughout the apartment dim, except for a couple of spots in strategic locations, and the porn soundtrack fades out and some music, quiet but with a steady beat, comes up.

"Yeah. Can't really talk about it…"

"No, sure, I understand. You just seem pretty tense. Don't worry," Vigo adds with a smile, "I'll help you out."

"You always do," he says gruffly.

"Yeah, you love it," Vigo teases, "you can't get enough of me."

And Quaquin hates it because it's true. Because he should have stayed gone, but he couldn't. Because Vigo makes him weak. Because it's stupid, and risky, and he shouldn't need it so much, god dammit. But he does. "I can get enough of your conversation, though," he says curtly, and puts down his drink so he can pull Vigo into his arms. His lips are cinnamon-sharp from the stims, leaving Quaquin's tongue tingling ever so slightly.

By the time they make it to the bedroom, he's half naked. Vigo's bedroom is like the display window of a fetish shop crossed with a haxer's junk drawer. One of Vigo's charms is his indiscriminate taste and appetite for discovery, but, combined with the attention span of a gnat, it means he always has a lot of projects lying around unfinished. Quaquin only has a moment to wonder what the thing is that looks like a hat stand mated with a mechanical bull before Vigo's pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his hips.

"How big do you want it?" Vigo asks seductively, pushing another series of keys on his fib. "Twenty? Twenty-five? Thirty?" With each increment, his cock grows larger, from average to respectable to _holy fuck yeah._

"Ramp it all the way up," Quaquin tells him, the way he always does, and Vigo grins, punching in the code for max length and girth. When it's at its full size, he's hung like a god damn horse, and Quaquin gives thanks, not for the first time, to Dr. Armanno's amazing skill with mods.

"Suck it," Vigo orders him sternly, going into his dominant mode. Quaquin resents it sometimes, because it's all part of Vigo's theory, pulled out of some first-year sophrology course that he probably barely passed. Vigo thinks that Quaquin's particular issues stem from his constant need to be in control, which in turn is rooted in what his parents put him through when he was a kid. And that if he learns to give up control sometimes, even to like it, he'll be better off. It's bullshit, of course, like so much of Vigo's 'therapy'. But that doesn't stop him from lapping at Vigo's cock like a fucking slut, or taking as much of it into his throat as he can before he gags, grabbing Vigo's ass with both hands to urge him on as he fucks his mouth. He tells himself he's doing it because he wants to – he doesn't have to do what Vigo tells him, it's all just a game. It makes it easier to take.

Vigo doesn't come, of course, not this fast, but he gets bored after a little while, and a bit twitchy from the cinnastim, so he pulls back long enough to strip Quaquin's pants off him. Quaquin always gets a bit twitchy at this part himself, old self-preservation instincts coming to the fore, but he tries to relax and remember that it doesn't matter to Vigo what he's got or hasn't got, whether he's a man or a woman or neither. Vigo thinks that being sexually… unique (so to speak) is a gift, not a drawback at all.

The few other relationships Quaquin's had have all ended remarkably quickly when the other person said "Hey, you know, you could get that fixed," or gave him a funny look, or laughed, or anything along those lines. They've all thought he'd be happier if he was normal. But Vigo doesn't think he needs to be fixed – well, not with more surgery, anyway – and that's why Quaquin lets him in.

Vigo stretches out beside him once Quaquin's as naked as he is, and lets his fingers wander through his tendrils, which are already engorged and hyper-sensitive. "Grow me some tits," he asks, mischievous.

"Why?" Quaquin asks, not able to sound quite as cranky as the request would usually make him. "What the hell for?"

"Because I want to play with them. Because I know how much more sensitive your nipples get when they're all inflated. Because I think they make you look voll. Do I need to go on?"

Quaquin grumbles a bit, but he feels around under his left arm for the trigger, digs into his flesh and activates it, feels his breasts start to swell. It's only mildly uncomfortable, not like changing his hips or his shoulders, which is fucking painful. Really, anything involving bone structure hurts to some extent. And doing a full hormone shuffle is always annoying, though in different ways – mood swings, hot flashes, you name it. Fortunately, the tits are just a simple soft tissue inflation, not hormone-based – there's a bit of stretching of the synth-skin, but he's used to that. It'll take a few minutes for them to reach their full size, but Vigo doesn't seem to mind the wait. He pulls a bottle of pills from his bedside table and pops one in his mouth, then offers them to Quaquin. He checks them out - khopra. "Nah," he says, "doesn't agree with me." Makes him feel like a fucking scrub-brush is what it does, though he doesn't say that.

"Oh, yeah," Vigo says, "I think I knew that. You should try some different pharms, though – what does eleija do to you, I wonder? Or, like, supernova? God, if I could get you coming for an hour or so, it'd be so splash."

"Vigo," he says, trying to be patient, "Try to remember I'm more than twice your age, and I've done pharms that don't even exist anymore. Coming for an hour straight just dehydrates me and gives me a fucking backache. I'll settle for what God gave me."

Vigo laughs at that. He gets Quaquin's little jokes, or at least pretends to. Quaquin's breasts are at the small and perky stage by now, so Vigo leans over to suck one of his nipples into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue. Quaquin lolls back on the pillow, trying to relax and let him do his thing. But it's hard when Vigo stops, pulls a grey hair out of his mouth, and announces "I'm taking that off."

"Don't," Quaquin says, "I have to go back to work after."

"You show your chest hair to the Aegis chos?"

"It's not that. It's a question of self-image. How I present myself."

"Yeah, well, you're presenting yourself to me right now, bitch," Vigo says with a shrug and a smile. "Anyway, if it's a real issue, you can always grow it back before you leave. I mean, you could even do it at the same time you're deflating your tits, it won't take any longer." He's already got the depilatory cream out of the drawer and he's rubbing it onto his skin, wiping away the hair and leaving only smoothness behind. He eyes Quaquin's moustache too, but that's where Quaquin draws a line, so Vigo leaves it alone. "It's fine," he says, "I like the contrast anyway."

Quaquin's breasts have reached their full size, a modest C-cup. Vigo takes his sweet time toying with them, teasing and licking until Quaquin barks at him to hurry the fuck up. It only makes Vigo laugh and feign going slower, so Quaquin grabs his arms and forces him over onto his back. Despite Vigo's sculpted muscles, there's not a lot of strength behind them – Quaquin, older and nothing like as attractive, can push him around without too much trouble. "I said, hurry up and fuck me."

"I think you said 'hurry the fuck up.'"

"Don't split hairs with me, Qvist, just get on with it."

"What if I don't? What'll you do, rape me?" Vigo's grin was insolent.

"You'd probably like it."

"Yeah, probably," Vigo admits. "But I'm still going to make you beg for it. Or at least ask nicely. Use your manners, Robin."

There's that damn roll over and whimper sensation again, but Quaquin fights it. "I… fuck you, Vigo. Please?" he says, through gritted teeth.

"Oh, you can do better than that." Vigo lifts his hips just a little, letting the tip of his massive cock slide against Quaquin's ass. "Come on. You know what you have to do to get this, darling."

He sure does. "Please, I want it so damn bad. I want you to bend me over and make me your bitch. I'll do whatever you say." They're just words. It's just the formula that'll get him fucked senseless. It doesn't mean anything, he tells himself.

"Hmm," says Vigo, tipping his head to one side and letting his hands rest on Quaquin's thighs. "I don't believe you."

"What?! I said please and everything!"

"I know, but it didn't have that honest ring of desperation about it. Sorry, but no."

"You can't do this, Vigo!"

"Why not? You're not a client anymore, you're… actually, I don't know what the hell you are, but I'm pretty sure you're not paying for this." Quaquin frowns, and gears himself up to either storm out or punch the bastard in the face, but Vigo says something else that keeps him listening. "So what is this? I'm curious."

"I could ask you the same thing. Are you just going along with this because I'm some fucked up pet project of yours? Or am I just a… a god damn novelty?!"

Vigo smiles. "Robin, is it so hard to believe that I like you? You're fucked up, sure, but it's a fun sort of fucked up." His fingers stray into Quaquin's highly idiosyncratic garden of earthly delights, just enough to tease a groan from his lips. "So tell me why you keep coming back."

"Because you're good at what you do."

"So? So are a million other people you could be fucking."

"Because… don't make me do this, Vigo." But Vigo just keeps looking up at him, kind of hopeful, rubbing him lazily, and he can't just walk away. He can't. "Because I trust you," he says at long last, though it pains him to admit it. "Because you could have ratted me out and you didn't."

Vigo's grin broadens, and he reaches up to stroke Quaquin's face, gentle for once. "Now that," he says, " _that_ was honesty." He squirms out from beneath him, and Quaquin lets himself be moved onto all fours, doesn't fight back when he gets behind him and pushes him down by the shoulder. It's like the anger's gone out of him, at least for now. "Tell me what you want, this time with feeling," Vigo whispers.

His cock is just at the rim of Quaquin's ass, not pressing yet, just resting there, but it's driving him wild with need, and that the words spill out of him. "Ohh, fuck me, Vigo, do it hard, don't stop, you're so fucking amazing, hold me down and slam that monster into me, _please_?" The last word stretches out in a gasping whine, and he'd be humiliated by how needy it sounds, if he were in any state to care.

"You only had to ask, lover." With a throaty laugh, Vigo starts to push into him, not going too slow, because he knows Quaquin can take it, and his hands snake around his body to cup the tits that are swaying beneath him. Before long, Quaquin's arms are shaking too hard to hold him up, and he's flattened between Vigo and the mattress, muffling his cries in the pillow. He bucks his hips up just enough for Vigo to reach down and stroke his clit-cluster, and the combination of that with the steady pounding of a huge cock into his ass is more than enough to get him off, shuddering and gushing over Vigo's fingers. He keeps taking it, though, and in the time it takes for Vigo to shoot his load, Quaquin's come twice more, and he's just lying there, wrung out and panting.

He manages to pry himself upright when he realizes he was supposed to be back at work fifteen minutes ago. As he's deflating his tits and getting dressed, he asks Vigo, now lying languorously back with his arms behind his head and a smug, self-satisfied smile on his face, "Was this some sort of sophrology switch-flipping bullshit, or did you really mean any of that?"

"Can't it be both?" Vigo asks cheerfully, and gives him a kiss and a slap on the ass before he leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
